Abandoned
by WolfPilot06
Summary: Tangled in a web of fate far beyond his comprehension, the young angel Hisoka must struggle to survive in a world that wishes nothing more than to see his death. AU, yaoi, angst. Updated 071104 - Chapter 8 edited.
1. Prologue

Title: Abandoned (1/?)

Author: WolfPilot06

Category: AU, shonen ai, angst, yaoi in the future, NCS in the future, some shota/child abuse (if you will), angels flying about in dark brown suits

Pairings: (will be) Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Muraki x Hisoka, Terazuma + Wakaba

Notes: This is going to be an EPIC, I can tell.  Like, really really long.  Because I already have a majority of the story planned out, and it is going to be _long_.  As in _really_ long.  But now I'm being redundant…on to the fic!

---

It was a quiet afternoon in the Angel Detective Division of Heaven, Human Activities Department.  All that could be heard was the soft, muffled sound of an ancient fan wheezing in the corner, blowing with all its feeble might in an attempt to cool the dim interior of the office.  A hand passed wearily over its owner's brow, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that had collected on lightly tanned skin as blue eyes gazed out the window at the blossom-laden trees outside.  

One would think that Heaven was a place of endless spring and angels walking around in blinding white togas, chatting lightly under the cover of beautiful trees with boughs full of delicate blooms and lounging about on cushions laid out under the sun, sipping elegantly from crystal goblets filled with ambrosia.  One would hardly imagine angels in dark brown suits, magnificent dark blue wings protruding from the back and fluttering slightly in the dank heat of an ancient office building.  

Tatsumi Seiichirou was a typical angel, however, save the fact that he worked in the Angel Detective Division and possessed magic powers beyond those of ordinary celestial beings.  The hand that had wiped the sweat from his forehead now adjusted the thin-frame glasses resting upon his nose, which he wore in spite of his perfect vision, a reminder of his mortal life like the suit he wore despite the stifling heat of day.  He sighed wearily and shuffled the papers upon his desk, reading through budget reports and case files rapidly with inhuman concentration, pausing occasionally to jot down a note in his neat, precise handwriting.  

A sliver of light fell across the floor as a slender figure slipped through the partially opened door.  Tatsumi did not raise his head, quickly adding up the numbers displayed before him, though a slight hesitation in his movements showed he was aware of the newcomer.  Soft, shuffling footsteps approached his desk tentatively and stopped.  

The secretary of the Angel Division continued with his report, ignoring the slight young boy waiting before him.  The child, for he could be no older than sixteen with his light blond-brown hair and large green eyes, twisted his hands nervously as he waited for the older angel's attention to turn to him.  

Finally, Tatsumi set aside the record with a sigh, massaging his temples briefly.  He was vaguely startled when he felt a pair of slender hands touch the back of his neck tentatively, warm, soft fingertips finding each tense spot and carefully rubbing it in soothing, relaxing circles.  He turned his head slightly to look into wide emerald orbs, a faint smile touching the younger angel's pale lips as his pure white wings flapped lightly once.  

"Kurosaki-kun," Tatsumi said warmly, "Thank you."

The child tilted his head slightly to one side, the smile still hovering on his face as his hands moved lower to massage Tatsumi's shoulders firmly.

"Tired?" he asked simply.  Tatsumi sighed and nodded wearily, dropping his head into his hands with a slight shudder of pleasure as the soothing touch moved to his wings and skillfully rubbed along the edges in comforting strokes.   

The comforting silence stretched out between the two, broken only by the sound of the decrepit fan still struggling to survive.  Four desks over, an older angel snoozed in his chair, tilted dangerously back and snoring with his mouth open.  Occasionally, he would snort and a tan wing would twitch enthusiastically for a few moments before settling against the other again.  Hisoka smiled, watching him, the look coming easily to his young and untroubled face.

A faint murmur came from beyond the still open door, two angels passing by and talking, their loud and boisterous laughter filtering into the office.  Tatsumi saw Hisoka flinch slightly, a devastated look entering his eyes, and felt an answering wave of protectiveness rise in his chest.  The angel raised his hand slightly, gesturing at the shadows cast by the door.  A dark tendril rose quickly from the pooled darkness, closing the door lightly with a click before settling to the ground again.  Receiving a quick smile from Hisoka in reward, Tatsumi then straightened in his chair and motioned for Hisoka to take a seat in front of his desk, feeling a slight wave of regret as soft hands slipped from his shoulders, leaving in their wake a trail of warmth.  

Hisoka settled into the worn chair easily, fanning his wings over the back and folding his hands in his lap as he waited patiently for Tatsumi to speak.  

"You have a mission."

Whatever it was that Hisoka expected him to say, it wasn't that.  The young angel nearly fell out of his chair in shock.  

"W-what?" he stammered.  Tatsumi adjusted his glasses slightly and leaned forward, his eyes showing how clearly unhappy he was with the situation.

"I've received orders from the Council to send you out on a reconnaissance mission." Tatsumi explained, "You are to go to the human world this night and observe a small group of demons that have been gathering recently."

"By myself?" Hisoka asked, his voice hushed with surprise.  The older angel could see his wings beginning to twitch with eagerness and sighed.  

"Yes.  I volunteered to send another angel with you, or to go with you myself, but the Council insisted that you go alone." Hisoka seemed to finally notice his irritation, though perhaps it was because Tatsumi was feeling annoyed enough to let his shields on his emotions slip slightly.  Hisoka was an empath, the only one among all the hundreds of thousands of angels that inhabited the vast expanses of Heaven.  While his "gift" granted him the power to hear the thoughts and feel the emotions of people around him, it was also a curse, one that caused the child, barely thirteen years old since his creation, to be shunned by his fellow angels.  Pale wings drooped slightly and Hisoka slumped back in his chair.

"You don't think I can go alone?" Disappointment and hurt showed in his quiet voice, gaze dropping to stare at the scratched and battered desk front.  The secretary sighed again and pushed up his glasses, shaking his head.

"It's not that, Kurosaki-kun, it's-"

"Hisoka."  Tatsumi blinked at the young angel's uncharacteristic interruption.  Green eyes rose to his face, their depths anguished and vulnerable.

"My name is Hisoka, Tatsumi-san." He said softly, "Can't you pretend like you are my friend, at least?" His voice dropped into a whisper, "You're the only one I've got."

After an awkward pause, Tatsumi rose stiffly from his chair and approached Hisoka, placing a hand on his slender shoulder.

"Hisoka," he said uncomfortably, obviously unused to dropping formalities, "I…you know I believe you capable of taking care of yourself."

Hisoka shrugged half-heartedly.  Tatsumi paused, trying to collect himself enough to say what he knew the younger angel needed to hear.

"And…I'm not your only friend, Hisoka-chan." He said gently, smiling at Hisoka as he looked up at him, eyes wide. "Watari-san and Konoe-Kacho are also your friends.  And I'm sure that 003 and that toaster creature Watari-san calls 'Bob' are also your friends."

Hisoka laughed at the mischievous twinkle in Tatsumi's eye, jumping to his feet to hug the startled secretary tightly. 

"Thank you, Tatsumi-san," Hisoka squeezed again.  Tatsumi didn't need to be an empath to feel the relief the young angel was experiencing at the moment.  He lightly clasped his arms around the slender figure for a moment, a fond smile on his lips as he ruffled Hisoka's blond-brown hair.  

"Go rest up.  You'll most likely have a long night of it." He ordered, his suddenly formal tone softened by the tender look in his eyes as he looked at his young charge.  Hisoka nodded, pulling away and bowing slightly.  

"I'll see you when I get back, Tatsumi-san!" he promised, "And I'll tell you _everything_ about the demons!  I'll even be able to tell you what they ate for breakfast and how old each one of them is!"

Tatsumi turned a little green around the edges as he thought of what demons usually ate for "breakfast".

"I hope not, Kurosaki-kun," he said, automatically, it seemed, reverting to his old mode of address.  Hisoka beamed at him, seeming not to mind any more.  "I just want to find out what they're up to." 

Hisoka bowed again, white wings trembling with excitement.  Impulsively, he hugged Tatsumi again, shouting over his shoulder as he left.

"I'll find it all out, I promise!" 

The office was silent once more in the wake of Hisoka's departure, the old fan finally sputtering to a stop, filling the room with the monotonous buzzing of the now deceased motor.  The older angel still snored in his chair, but Tatsumi was not surprised when he abruptly stopped and sat up, looking at the secretary gravely.  

"You're not happy about this case, I take it?" 

"Konoe-Kacho, once again your perceptiveness amazes me." Tatsumi said dryly, rearranging some papers on his desk.  "And here I thought my irritation was evident only to young Kurosaki-kun."

"Tatsumi-san, when you lose your cool enough to actually _yell_ at the Council, I know you're irritated." Konoe replied just as dryly, "Would it do any good to assure you that the case is positively safe?"

Tatsumi paused, the muscle in his jaw tightening slightly as he turned to look at the elder angel.  Konoe did not look nearly as convinced in his words as his tone implied. 

"Konoe-Kacho, with all due respect," Tatsumi began slowly, blue eyes narrowing behind the frame of his glasses, "The Council _hates_ Kurosaki-kun.  They would not hesitate _once_ at an opportunity to have him killed.  You know this as well as I do.  The very fact that they are sending an inexperienced young angel without any offensive magical power whatsoever and only defensive and healing powers to do a night reconnaissance mission on a pack of demons that we very well _know_ have slain more powerful angels before does not reassure me in the _least_ that the mission is safe."  He slammed his hand against his desk, his voice rising in agitation throughout his speech.  "Not only that, but they refuse to allow any to accompany him when they _know_ this is his first flight down to the humans' world.  They are trying to get him _killed_, Konoe-Kacho, and I have to sit here and _pray_ to the God that created him and left him to fend for himself that he will return safely."

"Tatsumi." Konoe's voice was warning.  The secretary took a deep breath and sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair roughly as he tried to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry, Kacho." Tatsumi said flatly, "But it infuriates me to know that they turn away from him without even knowing what he's like.  He's the most innocent, trusting child I have ever met, and they treat him like a monster.  I cannot forgive them for this."  He paused before bowing briefly to Konoe, "Now if you excuse me, I'm going to go and try to keep an eye on the Council and see if they have anything evil in mind for Kurosaki-kun."

"Tatsumi, I will try to keep an eye on him," Konoe called after Tatsumi.  The brown-suited man paused in the doorway, dark blue wings pressed together angrily relaxing slightly at Konoe's words.  Tatsumi turned back, nodded stiffly at Konoe, and left.  

Konoe let his breath out explosively and sat heavily in his chair.  He buried his face in his hands.

"I just don't know if I can help him." 

TBC

C&C would be much appreciated =D

**Wolf**


	2. The Fall of an Angel

Title: Abandoned (2/?)

Author: WolfPilot06

Category: AU, shonen ai/yaoi, angst, NCS (coming), some shota/child abuse (if you will), angel people running amuck, cute Hisoka-chan.

Pairings: Tatsumi + Hisoka (in a brotherly/father-son way), Watari + Hisoka (in a brotherly/father-son way), (will be) Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Terazuma x Wakaba, Muraki x Hisoka

Notes: My ear is clicking.  Why is my ear clicking? Gah.  Why am I talking about my ear clicking?  I have no clue.  *stares* Right-o, Watari-san makes his appearance! *huggles Watari and Hisoka* *lovelove* I love Watari!  He's so absolutely adorable and friendly.  =) I'd love him to death if he were real.  Hisoka needs someone like Watari to provide unconditional love and support, ne?  _Someone_ needs to hug that little angsty child!

By the way, Hisoka is the only angel in heaven wearing a toga.  You'll see why later.

One last comment…

Tatsumi: SHUT UP YOU MONKEY!

Tsuzuki: Hidoi~i!

--

The sound of clicking keys resounded through the lab, intermingling with the dull thrum of a motor running and various potions bubbling on worn lab benches.  A blond head bent intently over the keyboard, peering at the screen and occasionally turning to the side as the white-clad figure regarded his notes with a tapping finger and pursed lips.  Amber eyes blinked and he spun around in his chair, quickly wheeling over to a nearby burette stand and retrieving a beaker filled with a clear solution.

"I wonder if…let's see what happens if I titrate thirty milliliters of sodium hydroxide in…" he mused, setting up the titration and placing the beaker underneath.  Skillfully, he added the desired amount of solution, swirling it about and watching the pink color slowly fade away.  "Hmm…"

He turned back to his computer, adding in his observations rapidly, golden wings twitching enthusiastically.  Eyebrows arched thoughtfully, he sat back in his chair, chin in hand, contemplating his next move.  

A muffled giggle was all his warning before a pair of warm arms wrapped about his shoulders in an enthusiastic hug.  Watari laughed loudly, turning his head slightly to look into mischievous green eyes sparkling with affection.  He ruffled the young angel's wheat colored locks fondly.

"Bon!  What are you doing here?  I thought Tatsumi-san wanted to talk to you." He pulled up another battered-looking chair, gently pushing the colorful bird sitting atop it off and dusting it off with his hand. "Here, have a seat."

Hisoka plopped down in the chair and smiled as its former occupant fluttered up from the floor and perched on his head.  A second later, what looked like an animated toaster came skittering over the floor, its stubby legs scrabbling at the floor rapidly as it rushed towards the young angel gleefully.  Hisoka laughed and leaned down to pick up the toaster, hugging it to his chest.

"Hello, Bob!" he petted it on what looked to be its fore end and it rattled in delight.  "How are you?"

Watari grinned.

"Looks like Bob's missed you, Bon." He leaned back easily, "So what's up?  What did old fussbudget want with you this time?"

Hisoka was nearly vibrating with excitement as he replied.

"I have a mission, Watari-san!" he said breathlessly, hugging Bob again.  He made a little sound of joy, missing the flash of consternation that went through Watari's eyes.  "I finally get to go down to the humans' world and see what they're like!"

"A mission, eh?" Watari was smiling, but Hisoka could feel the sudden tension that came from the easy-going scientist. "Who else is going with you?"

"Just myself." He looked down at Bob.  If he didn't know better, he'd think the toaster was smiling at him.  Hisoka smiled back, clutching the toaster to his chest for the third time since he'd entered the lab. "Tatsumi-san was worried, but it's only a recon-…a recon-…"

"Reconnaissance mission?" Watari finished gently.  Hisoka nodded sheepishly.  The elder angel raised his eyebrows impishly. "So, who are you going to be spying on?"

"Those demons… you know," Hisoka said rather distractedly.  Watari couldn't blame him; a small furry owl had come speeding out of nowhere and was now circling about the young angel's head excitedly, hooting in mindless joy.  Hisoka offered a finger to the tiny bird and she perched upon it daintily, ruffling up her feathers until she resembled a fluffy ball, peering at Hisoka owlishly.  "Hey, 003." He petted her head with his other hand.  She cooed in pleasure, stretching her neck to follow the movements of his fingers and wriggling in simple ecstasy.  

"Which demons, Bon?" Watari laughed, "There are a lot of dark and evil creatures out there who love to munch on humans and play games with angels.  Is there a particular group you're talking about?"

Hisoka paused, his young brow scrunching together in concentration as he tried to remember.

"The ones in that country…what was it called?  Japan?" Watari bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Yes, Japan.  Are you referring to the group that took down Divian and Lorien last week?" Watari asked casually.  His fists were clenched in his lap, knuckles white with tension.  Hisoka nodded, eyeing Watari with some trepidation.  He set Bob down on the ground carefully.

"W-Watari-san?" Hisoka asked uncertainly, "You think…they'll go after me?  Why would they?  I mean, they probably won't even notice me."

Watari said nothing.  The white-winged angel began to grow slightly pale, both from his own growing fear and the emotions he was receiving from the scientist.  He clutched the folds of his toga nervously, the white cloth creasing under his fingers.  Suddenly, he seemed small to Watari, lost and afraid.  His slender body seemed almost to fold in upon himself as Watari watched, his large green eyes staring at the floor with honest fear and confusion.  

The older man broke the silence with a loud smack as he hit himself in the forehead with an open palm.  Hisoka looked up at him in surprise.  

"Ah, Bon, I wouldn't worry about it." Watari was smiling again and Hisoka relaxed as he felt warmth and affection flowing from his friend.  "You're a smart kid.  A bit young, but for someone who's only thirteen, you're smarter than most."

He drew the younger angel into his embrace, eyes softening as the child settled into his lap comfortably, wrapping slender arms around his neck and snuggling into his warmth.  Such an innocent thing, this creature in his arms, created for a mere thirteen years, with the appearance of a sixteen-year-old human and wings of the purest white.  Shunned by his fellow angels and knowing only the love and affection that Watari, Tatsumi, and Konoe-Kacho were able to provide him, yet still caring for any creature that crossed his path. 

Watari began to hum to Hisoka, a soft song without words, emulating feelings of peace and comfort to the increasingly sleepy young angel as he rocked gently back and forth, encouraging the child to sleep and dream.  Soon, the sound of Hisoka's breathing evened out and he glanced down to see emerald orbs closed in slumber.  Gently, Watari rose to his feet and carried Hisoka to the nearby bed, laying his slight form on the mattress and quietly pulling the sheets to his chin.  The golden-winged angel paused, gazing at the young boy's peaceful form with an almost unbearable love welling in his heart.  He reached out and brushed a few errant strands of hair from Hisoka's face, smiling when the eternal child wrinkled his nose and stirred slightly, muttering to himself before settling into the stillness of sleep once more.  

"Good night, sweet angel," Watari murmured.  He bent down to place a chaste kiss on Hisoka's forehead.  

Slowly, he moved away from Hisoka's slumbering form and went to the window, placing a hand against the glass and gazing at the falling pale cherry blossoms, an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face.  003 fluttered onto his shoulder and hooted questioningly, tilting her head to the side slightly.  Absently, Watari reached up and scratched her beak.

"I don't like this, 003.  I don't like this at all."

--

The night winds were cool, flowing above and around his feathers like the caress of an ice spirit's hand.  He shivered slightly, though whether it was from the cold or from his excitement he couldn't tell.  Whimsically, he did a loop-de-loop, white wings flashing momentarily.  He caught sight of the moon and stopped, his green eyes wide and amazed.

The moon was blood red.

"A crimson moon…" Hisoka breathed, flapping his wings lightly to better view the discolored disk.  He watched the moon for a breathless moment, thrilled that on his first trip to the human world, he was able to view such a phenomenon.  Finally, he flew on.

In his thin fingers he clutched three feathers of tan, navy blue, and golden coloring.  Momentarily, he recalled what Konoe-Kacho had told him as he left.

_"Remember, Kurosaki-kun, to keep hold of these feathers at all times." _

_Hisoka gaped at the three feathers Konoe-Kacho was handing him, running a shaky finger over their incandescent lengths and inwardly marveling at the vibrant colors.  He looked up at his pseudo-father, eyes questioning and curious.  _

_"These are feathers from me, Tatsumi-san, and Watari-san," Konoe-Kacho explained, "If you find yourself in trouble, you can summon our help by spilling a drop of your blood on any of the feathers.  The owner of that feather will come as soon as they can to help you."_

_"Isn't this dangerous, though?" Hisoka whispered, horrified.  He had heard of how powerful feather magic was, and how dangerous it would be if a single pinion fell into the hands of an enemy. "What if I lose them?"_

_"I trust in you, Kurosaki-kun, to take care of our feathers for us." Konoe-Kacho's eyes twinkled slightly, "I have utmost faith in you."_

_Still, Hisoka hesitated to leave.  He looked up at Konoe for a long moment, biting his lips in indecision._

_"If I find myself in trouble where I could possibly lose your feathers," Hisoka said slowly, "I will send the feathers back to you.  Then you will know I am in trouble and you three will be safe as well."_

_Konoe smiled and patted him on the head._

_"Very well, Kurosaki-kun.  Do as you think best.  Good luck."_

Lips pressed firmly together in determination, Hisoka held onto the feathers more tightly.  After Tatsumi and Watari's less-than-encouraging reactions to his mission, Hisoka vowed to himself to be careful.  Despite his initial enthusiasm when he heard he had a mission, a dark sort of dread had begun to steal across his heart.  The same part of his mind from which his empathy stemmed was now warning him.  It was nothing like a screaming alarm blaring in his heart and causing him to sweat in cold fear but more like a dull, pulsing throb in his body, filling his mind with a blind, gibbering panic that he held away only through his experience in controlling his empathy.  

Still, Hisoka flew on.  He had to prove himself to the Council.  He would _not stop and go back simply because he was scared.  Finally, he would be able to show that group of hating angels that he was indeed worthy of being one of them!_

The cool night air seemed to numb some of his fear, replacing the fright he had been feeling with exhilaration and delight.  He breathed in deeply.  _This is what it meant to be free!  __This was true happiness!_

Later, he would remember sensing the change in the air, a subtle difference like that before lightning strikes.  At the time, he didn't notice the faint tingle in the air until it was too late.  By the time he realized that magic had been cast, the purple glowing pentagram had already formed and trapped him, immobilizing his wings and sending him plunging towards the face of the sleeping world.  Hisoka cried out in fright as he struggled desperately to gain altitude again, but it was as if a giant, invisible hand had clamped around his slender body and was dragging him down through the air.  The feathers flew from his grasp and he had time only to cast the returning spell on them before they disappeared from sight.  Helplessly, he watched as the ground rose up rapidly to meet him.

The pain hit him like a ton of bricks, wrenching a scream of pure agony from his lips as his wing snapped with a loud crack.  He tumbled along the ground in a mess of bloody feathers and torn flesh, too stunned to make any sound other than the occasional pained grunt or moan as he slammed into a boulder or tree.  Finally, he rolled to a stop, sprawling out limply in an empty clearing.

Hisoka lay still, breathing heavily after his fall, nearly unconscious from the overwhelming pain throbbing through his body.  He whimpered as he tried feebly to push himself up with his bruised and scratched arms, the movement jarring his broken wing and sending him flat on his face at the answering wave of agony.  Blankly, he watched as his own blood stained the ground, seeping from his wing and the numerous cuts along his limbs, vaguely aware of the slow footsteps approaching his prone form.  Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the white-clad figure standing before him.

"Please….help me…" he croaked.  The figure smiled enigmatically and knelt by his side.  Hisoka screamed again as the stranger pressed his hand to his broken wing harshly, his vision darkening at the edges.  His pain and the pure malice he felt through his empathy combined in an overwhelming tumult of confusion and agony in his mind.   

Hisoka had one last coherent thought before he passed out, his eyes dimming as the man bent over him, the crimson moon shining over his shoulder.

_So this is a human_.

--

TBC

--

*smiles benevolently* 

C&C would be much appreciated. =D

**Wolf** 


	3. Insert Creative Title

Title: Abandoned (3/?)

Author: WolfPilot06

Category: AU, angst, shonen ai/yaoi, angel thingies, Hisoka torture, and various and sundry other things.

Pairings: Muraki x Hisoka, (will be) Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Tatsumi + Hisoka, Watari + Hisoka, Terazuma + Wakaba

Notes: This is a really short chapter. A _really_ short chapter. But it had to be written. ^_^ Besides, I'm still working on the _next_ chapter and I wanted to update this one (yeah, I know I just wrote the last one, but…)

*Bows* Enjoy!

--

Nighttime was perhaps Tatsumi's favorite time of day. Without the endless stream of angels to disrupt his work, the secretary was finally able to finish the dozen or so little jobs he had begun and never finished during the daylight hours. 

Tatumi's typical night began as soon as the last angel had left the office –save, perhaps, Watari-san, who practically lived in his laboratory. Tatsumi would boil a fresh pot of coffee and settle in his chair with a steaming mug, intent on working throughout the night. He went through an average of three pots of coffee each night, the caffeine processing far too quickly through his system for his pleasure. Occasionally, he would nap when his active mind permitted, simply leaning back in his chair and dozing until his eyes opened once more. 

To the other angels working in the Angel Detective Department, the office was merely a place of work, where they toiled day after day of their eternal existence puzzling out the behavior of mischievous demons and trying their best to prevent the occasional mad spirit attempting to bring about apocalypse. To Tatsumi, however, the office was a haven. During life he had worked hard, and in death he saw no reason to stop. He saw his celestial status as merely an added bonus, permitting him to take advantage of his immortal body's remarkable ability to go months, even years without sleep if need be.

Usually, Kurosaki-kun accompanied him, keeping him company with a mug of hot chocolate cupped between slender hands and doing his best to help with the endless stream of paperwork. More often than not, the young angel would fall asleep over his work before long, sprawling among budget reports and employee reviews until Tatsumi gently woke him or moved him to the bed in Watari's improvised infirmary. Tatsumi surprised himself by realizing one day that he actually appreciated the young, wide-eyed angel's presence. Their days and nights were spent in comfortable silence, neither feeling the inclination to chatter needlessly and both valuing the tranquility of the dark time between sunset and dawn. 

But now the child was gone, sent on his first mission to the human world. The Council could assure him until they were blue in the face that the mission was perfectly safe and Tatsumi would still not believe them. There wasn't a reason in Heaven and Earth that he should believe the vulnerable angel-child would be safe around the most murderous band of demons currently roaming on Earth. And so he ensconced himself at his desk, surrounding himself with piles of documents and intent on burying himself in his work so as not to constantly worry over his absent charge. He knew that Watari-san was probably doing the same, if the increased number of explosions from the direction of the mad scientist's lab were any indication. Konoe-Kacho had wandered about rather distractedly until Tatsumi sent him home with a stern command to go to sleep and let _him_ worry about Kurosaki-kun, ignoring once again the fact that Konoe was his superior and really wasn't subject to following the secretary's orders. 

Tatsumi groaned and dug his fingertips into his scalp painfully.

He would _not_ think of Kurosaki-kun now. He would _not_ imagine the beautiful, innocent child being torn into bloody pieces and tortured by a group of grinning, hideous demons. 

His head made a hollow "thunk" sound as it made contact with the top of his desk, muffled slightly by his blotter and a pile of demon profiles. 

Maybe if he kept repeating "Hisoka will be fine" to himself, he'd actually start believing it. His only consolation was that he would know if Hisoka was in trouble, having sacrificed one of his precious midnight blue feathers for the young angel. 

Almost immediately, he felt the hair along the back of his neck prickling slightly. He lifted his head. Someone was using magic- someone whose magical signature felt painfully familiar. Tatsumi felt his heart clench.

--

Watari burst into the office, his golden locks flowing around his pale face in a mess of untied ribbon and yellow strands. 003 came flapping after him frantically, tiny wings beating at the air as she attempted to catch up with her master. 

"Tatsumi, I just-" he froze. 

Silence resounded in the office. 

Slowly, Tatsumi looked up from the dark feather he held in his hand, dull eyes fixing upon the golden pinion in Watari's suddenly lax grasp. The secretary met Watari's horrified gaze. When he finally spoke, it was a name, said in a broken whisper.

"Hisoka."

--

TBC

--

Well, I had to write it. *shrugs* We'll get back to Hisoka next chapter. @.@;;

C&C? You lovely people!

To those who replied:

I _would_ reply to you all individually (and I will when I have the time) but there's so many of you! Thank you so much! ^o^ I love feedback and I'm overjoyed that you all like this fic! *mad group huggle-glomp*

^_______^ Laters,

**Wolf**


	4. In the Serpent's Grasp

Title: Abandoned (4/?)

Author: WolfPilot06

Category: AU, angst, shonen ai/yaoi, NCS, limeish, angel-ness, confused author (don't beat me! You'll just give me a concussion), future mpreg (so don't read if you protest against mpregs, cause this plays in pretty importantly later), HISOKA-TORTURE (you have been warned)

Pairings: Muraki x Hisoka, Tatsumi/Watari + Hisoka, (will be) Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Terazuma x Wakaba

Notes: Um, well, I actually wrote chapter 4 before chapter 5…mainly because I was planning on having chapter 5 be the beginning of chapter 4, but then I saw it worked better as chapter 5, and well…uh…yeah.  Whee, Hisoka torture.

Hmm, I should just make my "Category" label a "Warnings" label, mainly because I'm too lazy to put up a separate Warnings label. ^_^ Hehe…

--

Hisoka came slowly to consciousness, vaguely aware of a dull throbbing pain that seemed to go throughout his body.  A moan escaped his lips and he stirred slightly.

He was jolted back to awareness as agony surged through his wing at the tiny movement.  

The pentagram- his fall- his wing snapping- that man and the crimson moon.  _Where was he?_

Emerald eyes snapping open in panic, the young angel struggled to rise only to find himself bound to a bed, his wings pressed painfully against the sheets and staining the white cloth with scarlet blood.  He was still hurt?  How long had he been unconscious? 

He winced as his bonds cut into the tender flesh at his wrists and neck, his struggles causing more metallic blood to seep from his still-unhealed wounds.  Even the soft cloth of his toga was agony, rubbing against raw flesh with every movement and adding to the agony of cut nerves and fractured bones.  Hisoka gazed about wildly, trying to figure out just where he was and what was happening.

A single window lit the room, bathing his surroundings in an unearthly red light and allowing him only the view of a cherry tree, pink petals dropping soundlessly from branches laden with uncountable blossoms like snow.  Through the pale, bloom-laden branches, he could see the blood-red face of the moon.  The sight that had only hours –days?- before incited excitement and awe now filled him with a terrible fear, anxiety rising to a pitch that was overshadowed only by the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.  

He slowly became aware of a darkness hovering on the edge of his senses, a spot that seemed both devoid and overflowing with emotions- _such darkness he had never felt before- approaching where he was with what seemed like deliberate slowness.  A person, pausing at the door as if in anticipation of what was to come, wrought with thoughts and intentions that Hisoka could not even begin to comprehend.  _

He flinched as the door opened, casting a pale yellow rectangle of light upon the floor that disappeared as his captor stepped into the room.  The man smiled at Hisoka with an expression on his face that the young angel might have termed as benevolence, had he not been sensing the dark delight that accompanied the smile.  

Hisoka futilely struggled against his wire-like bindings again as the man approached him, his white clothes stained with the reddish moonlight and making it appear as if he were stained in blood.                

"W-who are you?" His voice was hoarse and trembling as he spoke, and he swallowed convulsively as the man's smile widened.  

"You need not know that, my lovely doll," the white-haired man murmured, moving to sit on the bed. "All you need know is…you are mine."

The young angel flinched back violently as a hand caressed along his face, long fingers trailing along his jaw before tangling in his sweat-dampened hair, tugging lightly and drawing a pained wince from the captive.  

"What do you mean?" he whimpered, unable to keep his tears of fear and frustration from spilling from his eyes.  His captor seemed fascinated by his tears, reaching out with a pale, elegant hand to touch the salty drops as they trailed down his skin and bringing one to his lips, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste it.  

"So angels _can_ cry," he noted, ignoring Hisoka's flinch.  The man bent down until he was face to face with Hisoka.  Vaguely, through his terror at the man's proximity and the growing torrent of emotions raging in his unshielded mind, the young angel felt himself being divested of his frugal clothing.

He was not able to hold back a whimper as those unwanted lips pressed against his.  Eyes wide, Hisoka automatically struggled, pressing himself back to escape from the man's touch and, failing to do so, cried out in pain as the movement jarred his wing again.  The man took advantage of his parted lips to dip his tongue into the young angel's mouth, tasting of the forbidden sweetness before withdrawing, a pleased smile upon his face.  

"Such innocence…" the man breathed, caressing Hisoka's face with deceptive tenderness.  The boy trembled as the man's emotions continued to batter at his already weak mental shields.  He could sense that even as the man trailed his fingers over the skin of Hisoka's neck, there was an overwhelming desire to clasp his slender throat between the man's hands and squeeze until the ivory skin was mottled with bruises and the young angel was near death.  He whimpered, closing his eyes in a vain attempt to deny the man's presence.  

"Now, we can't have you ignoring me, can we?" the man chuckled, sounding amused.  Hisoka gasped as the man pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before lying fully beside him on the bed, draping a possessive arm across the youth's stomach.  The young angel moaned in pain as the man shifted his broken wing.  Why had not it healed yet?

"W-what have you done to me?" he wailed, straining against his bonds, trying to get away from the man even as he knew his struggle to be futile.  

"I suppose you're asking why you haven't healed yet, doll." The man trailed his fingers across Hisoka's bare chest, delighting in the frightened gasps and pants the digits pulled from his captive. "I've placed a spell upon your ties, angel.  All your powers are trapped within you, deep where you cannot reach them." Hisoka could feel him smiling against his chest as the man bent to taste the skin there. "You are mine, now."

Then the man placed his hand on his forehead and Hisoka screamed.

_Oh God what is happening to me what was this this man who why why why me I never hurt anyone did I oh god what did I do to deserve this pain this pain this_ pain_ someone Tatsumi __please help me Watari_ I'm so sorry please stop I'm so sorry what is this strange emotion _Lust__ let me go let me go let me go OH GOD PLEASE JUST LET ME GO I'm going insane I'm losing myself who am I who am I WHO AM I?_

---

His captor spoke, a breathy murmur against slick skin, trailing over his throat and pooling in the hollow of his collarbone.

"Tell me, precious doll…What do you desire the most in the world?"

He opened his eyes, staring at the silver-haired man in bewilderment.  Again he flinched as the hand dropped to his chest, pressing with deceptive gentleness against his bared ribs and stroking along his side in long, smooth movements.   A violent shudder racked his slender frame and he wailed helplessly as the man bent over him, tenderly kissing the corner of his mouth and his exposed neck, wringing sounds of shame and fear from his heaving lungs.

"Well, love?" the man purred, warm skin sliding over his own, shifting him closer to the hated tormentor.  He tried vainly to escape from the man's touch, straining against the bloodstained bonds that held him captive, whimpering as the wire-like hair sliced deeper into his flesh.  A hand placed itself upon his face, covering his mouth and nose until he could barely breathe.  He gazed up at the silver-haired mortal with terror in his jewel green eyes between slender fingers stained in blood- _his_ blood.  

"What do you wish for, doll?"

A part of his mind wondered why the man kept asking that, the part that wasn't screaming in fear and threatening to tear his sanity into pieces.  A voice wailed in the back of his mind, frightened of giving the wrong answer, terrified of the pain that would come if he gave none.  He screamed as the man casually broke one of his fingers, weeping with deep, heartbreaking sobs as his mangled hand was released.  

"Tell me, my doll, tell me." 

His doll?  Was that who he was?  This man's…possession and toy?  No, he had a name.  It was…it was…

Doll.  My lovely doll.  All mine, for all eternity… 

He couldn't remember.

"I…I want…"

Cool digits stroked alongside his face and he unconsciously turned towards them, dimly feeling the man's other hand pressing against the flat of his abdomen firmly.  

"I want…to be free…"

He swallowed hard as the man paused, bracing himself for his captor's reaction.

"Is that all?" 

His eyes widened as the man chuckled.

"Then you shall have your freedom, beautiful doll," He opened his mouth to speak when he felt the man's lips capture his own again. He cried out in protest as the man lowered himself, covering his small body with his own. "But first, my reward for catching you, my lovely little angel."

--

He was beautiful, this child lying helplessly beneath him.  Golden hair soaked with sweat and blood, clinging to an androgynously beautiful face- so young, so perfect- and lips the color of pale roses.  Such innocence peered from his wide green eyes –innocence soon to be killed- such sweet music came from his slender, fragile throat, the cries of pain and the crystalline tears that streaked down his pale face fueling his lust until he could no longer restrain himself from hurting his lovely doll, could no longer stop from making him scream.  

Yet even through his lust and the pleasure that he drew from the broken young body beneath his, he could not forget his purpose.  The knife sliced through the flawless ivory skin easily, raising lines of crimson blood that spilled to soak the pure white sheets, drawing screams of agony from the darling child in his grasp.  He held his hand to the boy's abdomen, chanting the curse in a low voice between thrusts and gasps of ecstasy.  

Oh, God would rue the day he ever let the pretty child from his sight.  He would regret ever having let this beautiful toy go.  For now he was his, and only his, and he would never, ever let this doll go.  

--

TBC

--

AN: For some reason, this chapter was *incredibly* hard to write.  It took me *forever* to write it.  I could've had chapter 5 out much sooner if it wasn't for this stupid chapter not cooperating with me.  Grr, argh…

*grumps off*

C&C, please? 

**Wolf**


	5. Dreamer's Wish

Title: Abandoned (5/?)

Author: WolfPilot06

Category: AU, angst, shonen ai/yaoi, philosophical ramblings (really?), future mpreg, NCS, lime/lemonish stuffs

Pairings: Muraki x Hisoka, Tatsumi/Watari + Hisoka (father-son/brotherly relationships), (will be) Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Terazuma x Wakaba

Notes: A chapter intended to explain more about Hisoka's past.  Does it explain his more vulnerable personality better? ^^; I hope it does. @.@;;; 

I'm an atheist/agnostic, know almost nothing about Christianity/Catholicism, and intend to have absolutely _no_ correlation between the god of Christianity and the god of my own making.  Sorry if there is.

--

He could still remember his creation.  It was one of the things that made him different from the other angels; where they had lived a mortal life, died, and entered Heaven, he had been _created_.  The hands of their God had touched him and molded his form, shaping the figure of a young androgynous being frozen forever in the early steps of mortal existence.  Dimly, in a corner of his mind, he could remember a sense of tranquility and trustas his God created him, gentle hands never hurting and always, _always_ filling him with love.  His love had forged an unbreakable bond of loyalty between the young angel and his creator, one that had lasted even to now, when his God appeared to have abandoned him.

His empathy had been a mistake.  In a rare moment of distraction, God had unwittingly transferred this precious gift- or was it a curse?- to His almost finished creation, unaware of what He had imparted upon His beloved child even after the transfer had been completed.  

God soon learned of His mistake.

Days after he had begun to sense his God's loving emotions through His touch and His mere _presence_, God finished his creation and regarded it as perfect.  A beautiful creature of His own making, the embodiment of everything God considered Perfect, created without others' knowledge and kept away from others until his completion.  And so he was named Hisoka.  God's little secret.

On the day after his creation, God presented him to the other angels, proudly displaying His beloved child-angel to the masses of His followers, beseeching them to love him as He had loved him.  Then He had awoken His secret, made him aware of the heavenly sky stretching out far above, the emerald fields extending endlessly into the distance, dotted here and there by jeweled flowers and blooming trees.  He had showed him his fellow angels, encouraged him to open his eyes and pushed him gently forward to face the murmuring crowd.

And he had screamed.

He was not afraid; oh, no, he was not afraid.  But some of the others were.  Their emotions came crashing into his vulnerable mind like a tsunami upon a beach, threatening to shatter his sanity.  He felt fear, amazement, anger, suspicion joy confusion hate _so much hate drowning him and he was lost not knowing who he was or what he was only able to feel and scream and scream and scream…!_

When he had regained his consciousness, hours, perhaps even days, had passed since his introduction to the other angels.  He found himself gazing into the sorrowful eyes of God, who explained the gift he had been given and taught him to build up shields so that he would no longer hurt from the others' emotions.  And then, to his great horror, he found that his God was leaving him. 

Too long had God toiled on his beautiful creation, He explained, and though He loved His little secret above all else, the world came first in His priorities; thus it was He sent His Hisoka to live with the other angels, to learn to live as a separate and independent person.  However, He had counted on the other angels to support His child.  He did not expect the other angels to rail against His frightened child and threaten to throw him out of Heaven's pearly gates.  With His eyes turned away from the Heavens, He could not have known of the harsh treatment and hatred his beloved secret suffered at the hands of the cruel Council, who treated the innocent child as a monster and a demon.  His unwanted power incited fear and distrust in those whose thoughts were not wholly pure and they feared him above all else.  Whenever he reached up to pluck a ripe peach from the bough of a nearby tree or asked in a tremulous voice for a sip of ambrosia, he found himself berated and abused by the other angels.  And so the poor little child-angel wandered about Heaven's holy fields, partaking of none of the endless ambrosia and sweet fruit and subsisting mainly on water and the occasional blade of grass.  Though he could not die, he grew paler and thinner, his beautiful emerald eyes seeming overly large in his emaciated face.  He appealed in a loud voice to his God, crying to Him to come and save his Hisoka, to show the same love He had showed during his creation.  But his cries went unanswered and the little angel resolved to let himself dissolve away into nothingness.  He sat beneath a tree by a shady brook and entered a deep sleep, determined to never awaken again.

Then, to his great dismay and pathetic joy, he was saved.  A dark-winged angel knelt by his dying form one day and fed to him the luscious, sweet flesh of a peach, gently wiping away the thin streams of juice that trickled from his cracked lips and ensuring that the half-conscious child ate every precious bite.  He had looked upon his savior with cloudy green eyes and seen a handsome face filled with soft concern and warmth.  For the first time since his God had left him, the little secret felt love.

Tatsumi, he found, was the dark-winged angel's name.  The angel returned day after day, each time bringing with him more food and drink, and slowly nursed the child-angel back to health.  But to the innocent child, starving for affection and love, the stories Tatsumi told were valued more than nourishment he brought.  Through the blue-eyed angel's tales, the little angel learned of others as kind as he- Watari-san, Konoe-Kacho- and gradually built up a burning curiosity to see the strange, dim building that Tatsumi often described.  He began to wish for the strength to return to his legs so that he could travel to Tatsumi's office and see other angels as the older man had described them.  Finally, Tatsumi offered to carry him away from his brook-side abode, offering the young angel something he had never had before: a home.

It was an offer Hisoka had never regretting taking.  

Under the caring tutelage of Tatsumi, Watari, and Konoe-Kacho, the young angel learned about the world and its inhabitants; with their encouragement, he was finally able to accept himself; and finally, with their tender, loving care he recovered from the hatred he had experienced for the first two years of his life.  He found peace and security with the three older angels; most importantly, he found a family.  

But now he was alone and hurt very badly, and all he could think was that he had been unable to keep his promise to Tatsumi.  Tatsumi had given him so much, and Hisoka had only been able to carry out various little errands for Tatsumi in return.  Then the mission came.  Finally, Hisoka had received a chance to repay Tatsumi back for all he had done for him, and he had missed it.  

Now, all he could do in the agony-filled darkness, writhing in pain and terror beneath a hot, heavy body pushing against his, _into_ his, causing him to feel things he never considered possible, was wait and pray for Tatsumi or someone else to come save him.  He could not keep the screams from issuing from his lips; he could not keep from crying as his terror overwhelmed him; all he could do was hope that the agony would soon end.  And so he waited…and prayed…and hoped. 

--

TBC

--

Why all the cliffhangerage?  Because I'm evil.  Ba ha ha.  Hear me laugh in evil, sadistic delight.

C&C please?  And I promise that the plot will start moving again next chapter. O.o;;

**Wolf**


	6. A Devil's Smile

Title: Abandoned (6/?)  
Author: WolfPilot06  
Email Address: WolfPilot06@hotmail.com   
Content: AU, angst, shonen ai/yaoi, NCS, angel dudes, long Oriya monologue, possible Oriya OOCness 

Pairings: Muraki x Hisoka, Tatsumi/Watari + Hisoka, (future) Tsuzuki x Hisoka, Terazuma x Wakaba  
Summary: Tangled in a web of fate far beyond his comprehension, the young angel Hisoka must struggle to survive in a world that wishes nothing more than to see his death.   
Distribution: Fanfiction.net (user ID: WolfPilot06), Clampesque board, Phantom Moon  
Author's Note: I'm aiming for a longer chapter here!  Everybody's favorite kimono-wearing bishonen shows up now, but don't be surprised if he seems rather OOC. ^^; I seem to lack the ability to write Oriya in character. -.-;;

Much thanks to Imbrii, my wonderful and multitalented beta, who has helped me work out several plot holes, completely _change_ the plot, and provides the voice of reason for my otherwise crackpot ideas. ^_^

And many thanks to all my readers; you really don't know how much your support and enthusiasm means to me.  I am forever indebted to you. ^o^

--

The noise in the great hall was overwhelming.  Angels of every color gathered here, talking amongst themselves without regard for whomever they brushed up against or shoved out of the way.  At the end of the hall opposite the magnificently carved oak doors, fifteen angels sat on a raised dais, observing the activities on the marble floor before them.  

Suddenly, the doors slammed open with a crash.  The angels fell silent in shock, staring at the three figures silhouetted in the doorway.  The dark blue wings of the angel in the forefront were spread slightly, every line of the man's being glowing with rage.  Gasps came from the gathered angels as the shadows in the room began to undulate and writhe, a few lifting themselves from where they lay upon the cold marble ground to stretch towards their owners threateningly.    

"Azriel!" the man thundered, stalking forward.  The crowd melted before him like a hot knife slicing through butter, the angel's anger palpable in the stifling summer heat.  The two other angels who had entered with him followed silently, the expressions on their faces as grave as their leader's.  

"Tatsumi-san, what is the meaning of this interruption?" a voice said coldly from the dais.  One of the fifteen had risen to his feet, eyeing the intruders with contempt in his steel-gray eyes.  He fanned out his ash-colored wings, as if hoping to intimidate the tall angel before him.  To either side of him, the fourteen other angels tensed, readying themselves for the inevitable confrontation.

"Azriel," Tatsumi repeated in a frosty tone, "You dare _ask_ why I am here now?  Can it be that your brains have rotted away during the century that you have lounged upon your raised chair, softened by the simpering of your sycophants and encouraged by your inherent stupidity?"

"I would warn you to watch your tongue, Tatsumi!" Azriel flared, "Greater angels have been sent on for less, and we both know that I only hesitate to send you on because our God favors you.  If you so provoke me, though, I will _not stop from sending you on."_

Sapphire met steel in a clash of wills, both angels beginning to glow with the aura of their powers.  The air stirred slightly as the tension in the room rose.  The crowd began to back away slowly, looking nervously between the two as the shadows twisted wildly upon the walls and floor.  Watari stepped forward, his face devoid of any of its usual cheerfulness.  He placed a calming hand on Tatsumi's shoulder and turned to Azriel.

"Enough of this show of manliness," he said dryly, but his eyes flashed angrily, "Let's get to the heart of this matter.  Why have you refused our request to send a search team out for Kurosaki-kun?"

Nearby angels started muttering at this, not a few shooting dirty looks at the trio facing the Council.  Watari noticed that a few Council angels looked a bit abashed and refused to look at them, while others looked rather surprised.  One angel remained unruffled by the ongoing conflict, sitting with his chin resting upon his interlaced fingers and his eyes closed.  

Azriel's expression changed then, the corner of his pale lips twitching slightly as if he was trying to keep from smiling.

"Ah, that," he said, in a tone that clearly indicated that he thought that the matter was below him to even consider, "We simply do not think it is worth the expenses and trouble to send out a patrol for a single foolish angel.  For all we know, Watari-san, that…_child_ may have merely wandered off.  Perhaps he spotted a patch of flowers he liked." 

Watari shot a startled look at Tatsumi as the secretary actually growled at Azriel's condescending tone, the dark-winged angel's knuckles whitening with rage.  Konoe-Kacho stepped in then, his face no longer that of a foolish old man.

"Azriel," he said sternly, "That is unkind of you.  Our God commands us to be merciful and kind to all.  How can you prejudice against a young angel like this?"

"God," Azriel replied icily, "Has abandoned that 'angel'.  It is not our responsibility to save abominations."

He froze as he felt a cool, slick substance brush against the vulnerable skin of his throat then.  The blond angel did not need to look to know that a thin tendril of shadow had wrapped itself around his neck, pooling against his collarbone and tightening whenever he so much as took a breath.  Slowly, carefully, Azriel turned his head towards Tatsumi, looking into steely eyes the color of midnight.  

"Are you insane, man?" Azriel choked, wheezing as the shadows tightened imperceptibly around his neck. "Attacking and threatening one of the Council?"

"Why, whatever are you talking about, Azriel-san?" Tatsumi asked with deceptive mildness.  Then his characteristically stoic expression disappeared, his features twisting in pure hatred.

"I do not care if you are one of the Council," he said softly, "I will kill you nonetheless if you insult Kurosaki-kun again, you unworthy bastard.  God must have been blinded by your alligator tears if he trusted you enough to even let you into Heaven."

"Release him, Tatsumi." A voice rang out.  The speaker was the angel who had so far been quiet through all the happenings.  He stood, quietly pushing back his chair as he opened his blue-gray eyes to regard the furious Tatsumi.  "This matter concerns not only him, but all of us."

There was a moment of silence as Tatsumi looked at the other.  With a twitch of his fingers, the shadows wrapped around Azriel's neck released the Councilor and slithered back to their places, resuming their inert existence.  Azriel rubbed his throat with one hand, glaring at Tatsumi hatefully.  Stormy eyes regarded both calmly.

"Tatsumi-san, I would ask that you remain calm while in the Great Hall.  While I understand your plight, you must remember that decency and kindness are foremost in our minds." His gaze flickered to Azriel before continuing, "Azriel…I must ask.  Why was this matter regarding Kurosaki Hisoka not brought to our attention?"

Watari realized something.  His face tensed as he looked at Azriel with sudden understanding.

_'So _that's_ it.  Azriel didn't even tell the Council about Hisoka's disappearance!'  _

"Kyerith," Azriel spoke, clearing his throat with the barest hint of nervousness, "I did not think that it warranted a full Council discussion-"

"Bullshit," Kyerith said calmly, drawing a few startled gasps from the other angels, "An angel disappears, and you do not think it warrants a full Council discussion?" His eyes narrowed, "And you acted in the Council's name, refusing a perfectly reasonable request for a search?  I must say, Azriel, that if _someone's actions were to be questioned here today, they would not be Tatsumi's."_

Azriel paled then, licking suddenly dry lips as he tried to find an excuse.  Kyerith held up his hand, forestalling the other's words.  

"There is no time to be wasted listening to you prattle on about how you thought you acted in the best interests of the Council or whatever else your mind may have come up with," he said and pinned the blond angel with an icy stare, "What we must do now is act quickly to find Hisoka." Blue-gray eyes then moved to regard Tatsumi, who had noticeably calmed since Kyerith began berating Azriel.  "Tatsumi-san: I give you permission to take a group of ten or so angels down to Earth to investigate this matter.  If you should find Hisoka, you are to bring him immediately back to Heaven and treat him for whatever injuries he may have sustained during his sojourn in the humans' world. That is, if the Council agrees."

There was a brief pause before the other angels nodded, one at a time, with the deliberate exception of Azriel, who had sunk back in his chair with a sort of pouting petulance at having been chastised before an entire hall of angels.  

"Thank you, Kyerith-san," Tatsumi murmured, bowing slightly.  He turned and left, albeit in a much calmer state than when he had first burst through the massive oaken doors.  The gathered angels began to talk amongst themselves, the noisy din that had filled the hall before rising again.  Watari lingered for a moment, approaching the stormy-eyed Councilor cautiously.

"I would like to add my thanks to Tatsumi's," Watari said quietly.  Kyerith raised a dark, elegant eyebrow.  

"There is little to thank, Watari-san," Kyerith replied offhandedly, "What I did was not for Hisoka, Tatsumi, or you.  Rather, what has happened to Hisoka involves us all.  His disappearance is merely one of many other disturbing signs that I have observed lately." 

Watari was taken aback.  He had thought that Kyerith had intervened with sympathy for Hisoka, but now it seemed as if he had interfered simply because he was concerned about the fact that an angel had gone missing without his knowledge.  The blond scientist frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Kyerith cut in before he could.  

"Watari-san, unless I am much mistaken, Tatsumi-san requests your presence on this mission," Kyerith said delicately.  It was a clear dismissal.  Watari stared at him for a moment before turning to leave.  He paused in the doorway.

"Kyerith…sir, if you could excuse my brashness," Watari hesitated, "Do you believe, like Azriel, that Hisoka is an abomination?"

Kyerith merely looked at him silently.

--

There was something to be said about being a demon, he decided.  It wasn't all blood and carnage, though there was certainly more than enough of that in his life, and that aspect of his demonic existence was, of course, enjoyable.  In fact, the shaded glen that he and his merry men – or rather, merry demons- were resting in currently was quite devoid of blood.  Right now, he was enjoying the advantage of demonic hearing.  

It had started sometime that morning, a low buzz on the fringe of his senses, like the faint hum of an electric light in an otherwise quiet room.  He had dismissed it first as a mosquito and even swatted the air about him lazily in hopes of dissuading the mosquito from making a meal of his blood.  But the buzz had continued all through the day, and had, in fact, grown even louder.  Now he could distinguish the sound of multiple wings beating against the air, wings that were certainly larger than those of any bird in existence.  

His demons were more than aware of what was coming, though they had only begun to hear the approaching angels a little over an hour ago.  Their reply was to begin working themselves into a frenzy, stirring the leaves in the trees with drafts kicked up by their blood-red wings and filling the grove with the sound of their cacophonous chanting.  He and his second-in-command remained aloof, him resting under an elm tree with his arms crossed behind his head and his second-in-command standing nearby, watching with thinly veiled amusement as their demons began to perform a hopping little dance.  Thoughtfully, he reached out and plucked a long piece of grass, placing it between his lips and enjoying the taste of a feeble life quickly extinguished.

The air began to throb with power, a few small dust devils rising and dissipating as rapidly as they came into existence.  Oriya smiled.

Lazily, the longhaired demon rose to his feet, casually brushing a few strands of hair from his face as he eyed the angels who had suddenly appeared in the middle of his grove.  The leader of the angels was a grave-faced man who looked to have died in his early thirties or late twenties, possessing a midnight blue gaze that was currently trying to bore a hole through Oriya's skull.  Oriya did what most people would do in such a strange situation: he waved.  

"How do you do, my fine gentlemen?" he drawled, noting the expressions of disgust on several of the angels' faces that came from his words.  Angels- such funny creatures.  Always so stiff and upright, never willing to just loosen up and have some fun.  Really, he should invite them to a slaughter fest one day, see how they liked it.

"I think you know why we are here, demon." The leader said icily.  The shadows in the grove began to ripple almost imperceptibly, causing some of the lesser demons to stir uneasily.

"Ah, a shadow master," Pleased with his own perceptiveness, Oriya looked at Tatsumi with renewed interest, "You must be the infamous Tatsumi Seiichirou.  So, tell me.  Have you choked anyone with their own shadows recently?"

The brunette angel's eyebrow twitched slightly, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists.  Behind him, Oriya's second-in-command chortled silently and painted an imaginary one in the air.  'Score, Oriya one, angels none.' Oriya almost smiled.

"For your information, I do not randomly kill people for fun." Tatsumi replied even more coldly.  

"I take it this isn't a social call," Oriya said dryly.  He settled himself back down on the grass, stretching out languidly and watching the angels' increasing irritation with something close to glee.  "You have something you want to ask me.  Go ahead and shoot."

Tatsumi's eyes darkened as he drew himself up to reply, his wings automatically spreading in an awe-inspiring array of gleaming midnight-blue feathers.  Oriya would have been impressed if he had not had his own magnificent pair of deep crimson wings and was not surrounded by dozens of feathered sycophants on a daily basis.  Things being as they were, Oriya yawned in the face of the intimidating display.

"Where is Kurosaki Hisoka?" Tatsumi demanded.  Oriya looked disinterested.

"Sorry, don't know anybody by that name.  Try again later.  Maybe I'll come upon this 'Hisoka' of yours in one of my rounds." He deliberately smirked at Tatsumi, "I'll be sure to say that you were looking for him."

Another angel, this one with dark brown hair and piercing yellow eyes, stepped forward, curling his lip in disgust as he looked at the demon leader.  He flexed his hands at his sides, an answering ripple of power going through the air.

"Stop playing games, demon scum," he snarled, "You have one of ours.  Give him back, or face the wrath of God!"

"You are scarcely 'God', little man," Oriya said flatly.  He rose again to his feet, brushing the dirt from his clothing and eyeing the stony-faced expression on Tatsumi's face. "Seii-chan, who _is_ that insolent little upstart?"

"First of all, my name is not 'Seii-chan'," Tatsumi growled, "This 'insolent little upstart' is Lazar."

"'God will help', eh? (1)" Oriya spat the piece of grass upon the ground, grinding it into a pulpy mess with the heel of his foot.  "Well, let me tell you something." He approached and casually draped an arm around the golden-eyed angel's shoulders, ignoring the hisses and curses that came from the others.  Deliberately, he brought his mouth close to Lazar's ear, lips brushing against the cringing man's skin with every word. "God will not help…He never does."

He smiled then, drawing away with sinister grace.  

"Isn't this all proof that _He will never help?" Oriya asked, wheeling about slightly with his arms outstretched.  He snorted contemptuously. "Some goddamn _God_.  Lets us evil demon types feed on the poor, defenseless humans with only a group of incompetent, feathered idiots chasing after us.  Thanks for the free meals, __God.  Love this world you created." He smiled mirthlessly, a tinge of red coloring his dark brown eyes. "No, really.  _Thanks_."_

Tatsumi was unimpressed. Calmly, he adjusted his glasses, hiding the rage simmering beneath his otherwise emotionless exterior.  

"I do not care whether you respect our God or not," Tatsumi said bluntly, "Your very existence proves that you do not have faith in Him.  All I want now is Kurosaki-kun back.  You really expect me to believe that you don't have him?"

"I don't 'expect' you to believe anything I say, Seii-chan," Oriya said with the faintest sardonic tone, "After all, we demons haven't a worthy or truthful thing to say, right?  Believe or not, angel dearest, we speak the truth more often than you feathery light types do." He walked up to Tatsumi and stood face to face with the angel, locking gazes with him. "I'm afraid you'll have to believe me when I say I don't have this 'Kurosaki Hisoka' of yours.  Go ahead and search this entire area. We don't have this winged compatriot of yours."

Oriya had the pleasure of seeing frustration and distress enter Tatsumi's eyes as the divine being realized the truth of his words.  For a moment, Tatsumi looked sick, dismay and fear warring for dominance in his face.  Stiffly, the angel regained his composure and turned to go, signaling for his companions to do likewise.  Oriya watched impassively as the unearthly creatures spread their wings, preparing to take off into the blue expanse of the sky, a rainbow of multi-hued feathers and wings in the midst of God's earthly beauty.  For a moment, Oriya struggled with himself, but curiosity won and he found himself raising his voice slightly.

"But tell me, Seii-chan, just who is this 'Kurosaki Hisoka' and why does he warrant so much attention?" Oriya called.  Tatsumi made no indication of turning to reply. "Because the name sounds vaguely familiar…maybe if you told me a bit about this missing angel of yours, I'd be able to give you a more concrete answer."  He could tell from the sudden tension in the dark-winged angel's shoulders that he had his attention.  Tatsumi turned slowly to face him, eyes wary and searching.  Oriya spread his arms expansively and did his best to look disarming.  "I only want to help you, my friend."

"Demons never do anything for free," Tatsumi shot back, crossing his arms across his chest. "What do you want?"

"If I said 'you', how would you take it?" Oriya said almost impishly, devilish amusement dancing in his eyes.  Tatsumi snorted.

"I doubt I'd make tasty demon food," the angel said dryly.  Oriya grinned in reply.  Tatsumi seemed to be having some sort of internal conflict as he thought of Oriya's offer.  A longhaired, blond angel came up next to him and whispered something in his ear, to which Tatsumi nodded and looked back at Oriya. The demon waited expectantly. 

"As I have told you, his name is Kurosaki Hisoka.  He's relatively small, looks like a child of sixteen, and possesses…" Tatsumi hesitated, "He possesses white wings." He glared at Oriya murderously, "And he was sent to investigate you and your band of demons."

"Ah, Seii-chan, now I believe I know who you're talking about." Slowly, he met Tatsumi's gaze, malicious mirth glimmering in his eyes.  "You're never going to get him back, my friend."

The dark-winged angel's face contorted in sudden rage.  Shadows undulated wildly, not a few reaching for Oriya as if longing to wrap themselves around his neck to deprive him of his immortal life.  Oriya's amusement died and he suddenly became serious, brushing a few stray strands of hair from his face.

"I confess that I had a part in his disappearance, Seii-chan, but not as you think I did," Oriya admitted, putting his hands up in defense as Tatsumi took one furious step towards him, "Now, hear me out."

He waited until Tatsumi had calmed slightly and the shadows had settled down with only the occasional twitch to show the shadow master's irritation before he spoke again.  

"We've heard of your Hisoka, shadow master," Oriya said gravely, "After all, it's not often that God creates an angel, is it?" Tatsumi's face paled slightly, "From what I hear, he's a cute sort with empathic powers.  Now, you have to understand: empathy, added on top to enhanced angel powers and a pretty face, makes for ideal demon bait.  For thirteen years, the demon world has been roiling with excitement, holding its metaphorical breath for a chance to see this mighty weapon of destruction that God created.  There's not a demon in Hell who wouldn't jump for a chance to drain Hisoka of his powers.  It's been demon lord against demon lord, vying for the prize when he finally came out of Heaven."  

Oriya chuckled darkly, "Let me tell you: right now it's a pretty convenient time to move up in the ranks.  Higher-ups have been dying by the legion, making plenty of room for us inferior demons to get promoted.  Now, personally, I don't care much for power, though it can come in handy once in a while.  I'd much prefer the occasional bloodshed, a few screaming mortals and a soul or two for torturing purposes to fighting other demon lords for a chance to lick the King of Hell's feet.  Imagine my delight when someone approached me with a proposition that could, theoretically, cause bloodshed at a level never before imagined…"

Eyes closed in delight, Oriya unconsciously licked his lips in an expression of pleasure, oblivious to the look of sickened disgust on several of the angels' faces.  The demon leader opened his eyes again and winked maliciously at Tatsumi. "Of course, I almost killed the man when he came to me.  It's not really my thing to stop and converse with my dinner before killing it.  Luckily, this mortal had enough power to hold me off until he could tell me most of his proposition.  By the third time he mentioned 'chaos' and 'blood', I was hooked.  We devised a plan to get Hisoka out of Heaven, and I put it into action." 

He paused and shrugged slightly before continuing.  "It was actually a pretty good plan, simple and with no unnecessary complications.  There was even quite a bit of fun in it for me; all my merry demon gang and I had to do was kill off humans by the drove, which we did regularly anyway.  You Heavenly people just had to keep sending angels after us, and we'd kill a few before capturing one or two and holding them hostage.  We'd then make an exchange- your Hisoka for the angel hostages." 

He noticed Tatsumi's angry and slightly puzzled expression and smirked, "Yes, we've heard about how the Council hated God's little creation.  It's not exactly the best kept secret in Heaven." Oriya chuckled at his own pun and smiled broadly at Tatsumi, "But your Council made things easier for us by doing something we never predicted it'd do.  They sent out Hisoka himself to investigate us- an inexperienced, innocent young angel without a clue what he was doing and no idea of his powers, and they sent him after a notoriously murderous group of demons." He shook his head in disbelief and looked at Tatsumi with dark mirth shining in his eyes, "Sometimes I really wonder if your Councilors have their heads screwed on straight." 

"They don't," Tatsumi gritted from between clenched teeth.  Behind him, the longhaired blond angel from before appeared to be vaguely ill, exchanging a glance with an older angel that spoke volumes.  While the other angels merely looked outraged at the demon's actions, these three looked truly concerned about the disappeared angel.  That would identify the other two as the famous Chief of the Angel Detective Department, Konoe-Kacho, and the erratic scientist of Heaven, Watari Yutaka.  Oriya plopped down on the grass again and began to fiddle with the grass absently, quickly losing interest in the topic at hand.

"And then what happened?" Watari asked tightly, "You caught him and did what?"

"Actually, 'Taka-chan," Oriya replied with deceptive cheeriness, "We didn't catch him.  The mortal did." He shrugged, "Don't know what I'd do with a pretty little morsel like your Hisoka, anyway.  It's not as if I want the power he has…though, truly, the idea of torturing an innocent is a rather attractive prospect." He looked pleased at the idea, "Yes, so we found that he was the one coming and told the mortal man about it.  He set a trap, captured the kid, and is probably a million miles away by now."

"Who was that man?" Tatsumi demanded, "How did he know so much about us?"

"To your second question," Oriya replied laconically, now lounging upon the ground comfortably, "I don't know.  To your first…even if I told you, it wouldn't matter."

"Tell us.  You never know." Watari said with a tight-lipped smile.  Oriya tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Very well.  His name is Muraki Kazutaka," He smiled, "And, like I said before, you're never going to get Hisoka back.  I'd give up on him if I were you."

"But you're not," Tatsumi growled.  He signaled to his angels, "We've found out all we can in this hellhole.  Let's go."

Oriya stood and waved nonchalantly at the backs of the departing angels.  

"Have a nice day!" he called, "I'll be sure to tell you if Muraki calls!"

Grinning widely, he turned back to his demons.

"Now, wasn't that fun?"

--

TBC

--

C&C, like usual? The more replies, the more likely I'm to have the next chapter out! ^_~ 

(1) "Lazar" means, "God will help", hence Oriya's comment.

I suppose Hisoka will reappear in one of the upcoming chapters….

**Wolf**


	7. Crucification

Title: Abandoned (7/?)

Author: WolfPilot06 ), Imbrii

Category: AU, shonen ai/yaoi, NCS, angst, angel dudes flying about and angsting, possible OOCness

Pairings: MurakixHisoka, (eventually) TsuzukixHisoka, various others.

Rating: R

Archived: Phantom Moon, , CLAMPESQUE board

Notes: Dude, no chapter should _ever_ be so hard to write. It started off that I was handing this chapter over to my beta, Imbrii, to write. She had trouble starting it, so I decided to try my hand at it. _I_ had trouble starting it, so we compared the tiny bits we had written and decided to combine them. Finally, I got into the swing of things and managed to hack out some fairly nice paragraphs (if I do say so myself). Then she wrote some when I couldn't write a bit, I skipped ahead and wrote most of the end bit, and then it kind of…died. Incomplete chapter, with an important bit that neither of us could write. Imbrii was going to write it, but after two months of virtual inactivity from either of us, I finally hauled myself to my laptop and literally forced myself to write the bit out. The three month hiatus from writing is rather noticeable, I think, so I apologize for the abrupt change in flow and writing style in the middle of the chapter. Maybe the next few chapters will be easier to write. . Anyway, here is chapter seven, co-written with my beta, Imbrii. Enjoy.

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Edit Note: I've just removed a line from the end of the chapter, because I've changed things around a little, itty bit. It's not much of a change, but it makes the next chapter make a bit more sense in the sequence of things.

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He had never realized how deafening silence could be before now. Every creak, every scuffle, every drip echoed into infinity, dying slowly into the maddening quiet that filled his ears until he felt insanity creeping at the edge of his mind.

He hated the silence. Too many years had he spent in solitude, shunned by his people and shunted from caretaker to caretaker until at last he was labeled as a lost cause and set loose to wander as he would. Silence had become an integral part of his life then; he would go days without speaking to a single soul, and even when he did speak to another, it was often only a plea that was met with refusal and scathing insults, reminders of the cursed state of his existence.

Now the silence swallowed him, drawing him further into its unwelcome embrace even as he struggled to escape its grasp. Vainly, he strained against his bonds, nearly sobbing in relief as the cross upon which he was bound creaked or groaned from the force of his pulling, breaking the silence for a few brief moments. Then he would collapse against the wooden structure, panting from his efforts, weeping as the silence set in once more.

__

He would return any moment now, and his reappearance would herald a new chapter of agony. Hours ago, he had left; once again the cursed moon called, beckoning him to his damnation.

Agony throbbed through his body with each passing second, time serving to increase, rather than diminish, the pain that seared his every nerve. The world was cold and hard, pressing down upon him painfully as Hisoka struggled to recover what was left of his sanity, the ominous silence seeping into his every pore, threatening to suffocate him with its oppressive weight. A tiny moan escaped him, breaking the still air.

"The angel awakes at last," intoned a deep voice, cold and razor-edged. Hisoka wished he hadn't broken the silence. There came the sound of rustling cloth and slow, measured steps, each footfall augmenting Hisoka's fear to the point where he felt that he must scream or go insane. And so he screamed, each heart-wrenching cry echoing in the rafters and mingling until it seemed as if a hundred Hisokas were screaming. Finally, the screams died away and Hisoka was left with nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing and the sickening knowledge that his tormentor was still near. A low chuckle vibrated through the silence.

"Scream all you want, beautiful doll. None other than myself will ever hear you." A hand caressed his face then, cool and almost calculating as it trailed along the edge of his jaw to his neck, one thumb brushing over his pulse lovingly. The young angel shuddered violently, turning his face from the unwanted touch. The hand tightened slightly around his throat, preventing further movement. "I did not give you permission to turn from me."

Reluctantly, Hisoka allowed the hand to grasp his chin and turn his face forward, though he resolutely kept his eyes shut. The voice spoke again, quietly menacing and commanding.

"Look at me, doll."

He didn't want to see this human, the epitome of every barb hurled in his direction. This thing called human was fear, violence and a chill that froze his very soul. How could he look into the eyes of such a thing? How could he look into those depths without the fear of drowning in them?

But what he wanted was none of the human's concern, and the frightening, white phantom menace was the one in control. The hand gripping his throat, the hand cupping his chin were his world.

"I said, _look at me_."

Obedience wasn't even a question. He opened his eyes and fell into the pale gaze, hypnotized and horrified all at once. Terrified he jerked on the restraints, not caring about the pain or the blood, just wanting _away_, away from those silver eyes that he couldn't turn from. It didn't matter that the hands were removing the tattered toga with deceptive gentleness: all he knew were two moonlight eyes fixated into his mind.

Cool hands, rapidly warming from his own body heat, stroked along his sides, silently worshipping the soft skin beneath experienced fingertips, tracing along the edges of barely prominent ribs. Hisoka breathed in sharply as his terror grew, the hands ghosting down his abdomen to linger teasingly below his navel, coaxing a violent reaction as the touch triggered memories of what similar touches had earlier led to. He jerked against the nails piercing through his tender flesh, ignoring the agony that screamed through his nerves as he strained against the implacable spikes, blood streaming down his arms to lace white skin with crimson ribbons of heat. The old wooden cross groaned as he struggled, thrashing his head from side to side as he babbled in incoherent fear and pain, screaming as a hand caught his chin and held him still, the damned silver gaze boring into him relentlessly until he slowly fell silent. Gradually, his breath evened and smoothed until it was almost like that of a sleeper. Luminous green eyes grew blank and lifeless; as the hand released him, his head fell listlessly to the side and he stared sightlessly into the darkened depths of the dilapidated old church.

His captor emitted a quiet chuckle that did nothing to stir Hisoka from his hypnosis-induced stupor, the hands that had previously grown idle resuming their meandering path along the young angel's vulnerable body. The man's eyes tracked the progress of his hands with a fascination that had not diminished within the days since the child-angel's capture. Skin that had once been as flawless as carved ivory now held the marks of ownership, crimson lines and patterns spreading across the smooth expanses of Hisoka's torso and limbs like sinister lace, intricate whorls and spirals that had taken the silver-haired man hours of bloody work to accomplish. The screams that accompanied every knife-stroke had been music to his ears, proof that God's own creatures could indeed be harmed and controlled by a mere mortal like himself. He nearly shuddered in delight, a loving sigh escaping his lips as he leaned forward and rested his cheek against the child-angel's chest, listening as the beautiful youth's heartbeat quickened to a rapid staccato. He allowed his arms to slip around the slender waist before him, fingers trailing lazily along warm skin before moving to hold delicate hipbones in a curious grasp. Blue and black bruises marred the crimson and ivory flesh, accompanied by rosy patches that promised to darken with time. It was a shame that such wondrous beauty had had to be broken, but now the beauty belonged solely to him and he found that he did not at all regret his actions. His only displeasure was the ease with which he had claimed his angel; he had expected a struggle of some sort, a show of the power he knew the apparently delicate creature suspended before him held, but there had been none.

A smile twisted his face in sudden delight as he raised himself on the dais, cupping Hisoka's face in one hand and placing his lips by the unmoving angel's ear.

"Beautiful child, I know you can hear me." He breathed, his voice saturated with desire. "Is this not extraordinary? A mere man holding God's own creation in his stained hands, using him for his own pleasures and sins- surely you were not made merely to please me. Or perhaps you were…? I notice that none have come to take you back. It has been a full two days since I found you, child." He hummed with pleasure, his lips browsing along the soft skin of Hisoka's neck. Pausing, he whispered the next in hushed, almost reverent tones, his voice filled with hidden menace. "God hath abandoned thee, and God wilt not take thee back." A barely perceptible shiver ran through Hisoka's body at his words, a single tear forming at the corner of his brilliant green eyes. "But, my doll, you never need fear that I will abandon you. I have claimed you and your beauty; I shall _never_ let you go. You are mine," He pronounced his words slowly and deliberately, pressing a possessive kiss to Hisoka's temple as he did so. The angel's slender form fit in his arms perfectly as he moved to embrace him, nuzzling against the soft, blood encrusted brown-blond locks that adorned his beautiful doll's head, ignoring the fresh blood that gushed from Hisoka's wrists and wings at the movement. A faint whimper came from his captive. He drew back slightly to peer into his angel's face, noting the blankness that continued to reside in Hisoka's eyes.

"I can sense, my doll, that you do not think I love you. Darling boy, when will you ever learn that love and possessiveness are one and the same?" He let out a disturbingly normal laugh. "I love you, therefore I never want to let go of you. Pain is but part of love, dearest child, and as I love you very much, I must also hurt you very much. If I didn't hurt you, love, how could you know the depth of my emotions for you?" Soft and warm, this beautiful creature in his arms was. He buried his face in Hisoka's hair, breathing in the angel's somehow clean and innocent scent. Slowly, he became aware of the tremors running through Hisoka's body, an almost imperceptible shaking that he might not have noticed had he not been attuned to the child-angel's every breath and movement. Reverently, he touched the young angel's face, stroking his beautifully sculpted cheekbones and nose with a loving hand, pausing over rose-petal soft lips.

"How I love you…" he breathed, "And I have found you, and I shall never let you go…"

Hungrily, he claimed the same lips he had just worshipped in a dominating kiss, his mouth muffling the feeble, startled cry his actions ripped from Hisoka's throat. His hands roamed over the bared figure before him with a burning curiosity, delving into every crevice and dip of Hisoka's body, his desire growing with every panicked whimper his captive uttered. With deceptive gentleness, he knelt before the crucified angel, bowing his head in seeming prayer, like a sinner come to beg forgiveness from an angry god.

"Dear God," he murmured, raising his eyes to stare into Hisoka's. Slowly, he lifted his hands to the spikes nailed through Hisoka's crossed feet, wrapping his fingers delicately around the bloody metal. "I have found an angel." A cruel smile danced around his lips as he jerked the spikes from Hisoka's flesh in one smooth movement. The young angel's back arched in sudden agony, a terrible ripping sound accompanying his actions as a shower of bloodied white feathers fell from his wings, shrouding both him and his tormentor in a crimson-hued cloud of whiteness. "I have him, and I shall never let him go. He is mine, now, as you have abandoned him." Feather-light touches ran over bared skin and he gently parted Hisoka's legs as he stood, trailing his fingers along soft inner thighs. Smiling darkly, he leaned forward to kiss the angel's pale lips once more.

__

Mine.

--

A breath in, a breath out, and once again, over and over in the same endless cycle. He hung in the dark void of his mind, suspended on a cross much like that which held him in the material world. Was he not so much in pain, and was he not so afraid of the darkness that loomed on every side, he might have laughed. Insane laughter it might have been, but the rampant symbolism of an angel crucified on a cross made him want to laugh. No, correction: it made his captor want to laugh. He himself would never have noticed or even have _known_ it. Panic welled in his throat as he realized that his captor's mind was beginning to meld and override his own. Knowledge that he could not –_should_ not have had began to come to him, filling his yet uneducated mind with concepts and ideas beyond his comprehension. The realization that he was losing himself alone made him want to cry – the fact that this knowledge so intrusively imposed upon him was directed towards and involved _him_ and the defiling of his body made him want to scream at the unfairness of it all. He wanted to curl up in a corner of his mind and die, fade away and leave the empty, wasted shell of a body for his captor to do with as he would. He wanted to melt into the darkness that was his captor's mind and forget himself- forget that he had ever existed and thus stop existing altogether.

Then he felt it.

It was the merest brush of a mind against the edges of his empathy, a faint wavering in the solid blackness of his captor's mind. For a moment, he froze in disbelief, unwilling in his helplessness to believe that salvation could be so near. Then he reached out, _thrust_ his mind towards the other's, screaming and crying out for help, _begging_ for the other to simply step into the church, see what his captor was doing to him, and somehow make the agony and humiliation _stop!_

It was a desire so strong that he threw every ounce of his being into his cries for help, feeling the other mind stop in surprise and begin to reach back. He _felt_ the man turn towards the church doors with a questioning gaze, _felt_ the man begin to reach for the doors with one faltering hand-

And then the darkness slammed around his mind with overwhelming force. He screamed again, jerked abruptly back to consciousness to the feeling of a heavy body on his, a sharp hardness within him, and, stronger than any of the physical pain, the irrevocable, seething fury that roiled within his captor's mind. Through the agony, he felt the other man turn away, the presence of his mind fading and eventually disappearing altogether. He sobbed once as the man holding him placed up new shields, trapping his mind within his body, before he fell victim to the man's lust once again.

--

The sun was setting outside, bathing the world in hues of crimson, violet, and gold. A few dreamers sat upon their hilltops staring at the dying behemoth as it settled in its bed beyond the horizon, wishing for hopeless dreams in their blissful innocence and naiveté. Mothers sang their babies to sleep and set about preparing meals for their chattering families, smiling with loving benevolence as they reached out to pet a head of soft hair or chastised a wayward child with stern admonishments. Fathers sat in their great armchairs, watching the newscasters discuss serious happenings in the world, nodding gravely as the death toll in some distant war grew and shaking their head sadly as the death of some person or another was reported. None knew of the unforgivable sin taking place in a rundown old church set on the outskirts of a forgotten town; none knew of the momentous events rising on the distant horizon of fate as demons stirred and angels sang. Only two men had heard the dying scream of an innocence and purity far beyond mortal comprehension: one delighted in the blood that fell from a body once untouched by mortal sin, raising his stained hands to the sky in supplication and defiance; the other was swallowed in the shadows of his own painful past, the scream joining the ranks of haunting memories that echoed and grew in the silence of the night as he wept on the floor of his lonely bedroom.

--

TBC

--

A rough ending, but as I said, I'm having major writing problems lately. Sorry about that.

Wolf


	8. Lost

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Title: Abandoned (8/?)

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Author: WolfPilot06

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Notes: You know the jizz and the jazz, so I'll skip all that. =D If you _really_ want to reread the warnings and suchlike, just refer to the previous chapters. Not much of that has changed, though truly, the earlier chapters' warnings of "mpreg" and stuff are now null and void. ^_~ Just keep in mind: angst, AU, angels. AAA. No longer associated with the American Automobile Association, but the angst, AU, and angels trio of the Abandoned series. Let's hear it for alliteration!

*coughs* Yes, anyway. Many apologies for the long delay before I finally got this chapter out. First, I had a few months of "yech, writing is icky", then I had a month of, "god, I can't produce a decent piece of writing," followed by bits like Intricacies, Someday, and Secret…finally, there were school, activities, and college applications. One day, though, I decided that it was about high time that I got off my lazy butt and wrote, before people started thinking that I'd fallen off the face of the planet Earth. So, I sat down, wrote this entire chapter in one sitting and one afternoon, and wondered how the hell I had the time to do so. Then, I sent it off to my wonderful, multi-talented and _ever_ so spiffy beta, Imbrii, who pored and picked over this thing until it sparkled with nice shininess. Everybody bow down to Imbrii, because she is **_awesome_**. 

Thank you to all my wonderful _readers_, as well! I'm terrible at replying to each individual review, but just believe me when I say that I absolutely glow and purr over every single review you wonderful people give me. *many hugs*

A minor warning, though. I know this seems to jump out unexpectedly and seems to be completely discontinuous from the previous chapter, but it'll all be explained. =P I didn't just decide that, hey, this part bores me, let's not write it and say we did.

__

One last thing - the summary challenge. ^^;;;;; thankee very much to all who submitted a summary, but I've rather decided that I'll stick with the summary. No use changing horses in the middle of a race, ne?

So, yes. Without further ado (says she who just wrote the longest author's note in the history of fanfiction), I present to thee the next chapter of Abandoned.

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The marble floor was hard beneath his knees, as cold and unforgiving as the eyes that watched his hunched, shuddering form as he knelt before them. 

They were saying things, but he couldn't hear them past the cacophonous chaos in his ears. The furious roar of their anger and fear choked him, the emotions pounding at his already battered shields, endeavoring to drive him insane. He wanted to beg them to stop, but his throat was frozen, locked by his own terror and that of those around them. They were scared - of him?

__

But there was no time to contemplate further as rough hands grasped his shoulders and he screamed_, thrashing against their vise-like grips, his captors' hatred and pleasure at seeing him so broken driving into his mind like daggers, transmuted into physical pain that burned and raged through his veins. He pitched forward in their hold, his stomach heaving as he vomited, what little food there was spattering itself across the polished marble surface of the Great Hall. He had only a moment to feel the strange, alien satisfaction at this petty revenge before they lifted him bodily, tossing his helpless form across their shoulders and carrying him. Weak, unable to even lift his head to watch where they were taking him, still deafened by the burn of condemnation filling his mind, he could only watch the ground pass by with glazed eyes, unable to truly comprehend what was happening._

He couldn't keep back the scream of agony as they tossed him to the ground - no longer marble. Were they outside? - his body arching in pain against the crushed grass, stained crimson by the blood that still flowed from his wounds - wasn't he supposed to have healed by now? He felt a hand stroke across his wing - wings? - and then, a terrible grasp upon the delicate pinions, a sudden pressure and - 

****

Oh god it hurt it hurt they were killing him fire racing through his nerves and agony and he was screaming for them to stop but they kept tearing him apart killing him KILLING HIM

Then there was a soothing hand at his brow, a familiar warmth inside his mind, calm and grief-stricken, and he couldn't help but moan and press into the touch, crying tears that refused to stop through the agony. The slightest of hesitations, then there was suddenly something inside his mind - something dark and trusted, so alien and unexpected, and -

So much lighter, and he was lifted, tossed and he was falling, falling so quickly, so weightlessly and why was he falling? He was going to die, and he couldn't even remember why he was falling, and as the ground rushed up to meet him, a similar memory, forgotten and half-realized, sprang into being, filling him with fresh terror - he reached out with his arms in a vain attempt to save himself, and he - 

- pitched forward in an imbroglio of cloth and trembling limbs, falling as he cried out in fright and surprise. With a resounding thud, he fell to the ground, agony racing up his spine as he panicked and yelled hoarsely, wrestling with the monster that wrapped and trapped him, blinded and suffocated him as it tightened still more around his chest. Struggling, he managed only to get more firmly entangled in what he soon realized was a sheet. With a strangled gasp and a sound born of frustration and weariness, he stopped fighting and lay on his aching back, staring with wide eyes at the watermarked ceiling above him. A sudden lance of pain stole his breath away and he arched, flopping onto his side as he gasped for breath. He keened softly as his back continued to throb, each heartbeat accentuated by an accompanying wave of fire scorching his nerves and strangling moans from his raw throat.

Where was he?

The room was oddly quiet after his battle with the bed sheet still firmly wrapped around his limbs, the dark blue walls unfamiliar, as were the large futon he'd apparently fallen off of and the strange metal and wood furniture scattered sparsely along the walls. He remained on the ground, trying to remember why he was in this unknown place, why he wasn't…wasn't…

Where was he _supposed_ to be?

He was panicking again with the realization that he could remember _nothing_, clutching his head with both hands as if the pressure could bring his memories back, when he heard a muffled pounding that grew steadily louder. The door slammed violently open and he flinched back, covering his eyes with one hand as light suddenly streamed into the dark room, silhouetting a tall figure. There was a sudden feeling of another mind on his own, filled with surprise and concern, before the man hurried forward.

"Are you okay? Did you fall? I'm sorry, that's a silly question, obviously you did…" 

The man didn't seem to notice as he flinched away from the overbearing kindness and caring that poured from the stranger, reaching forward to tug the sheet from where it was twisted firmly around his shoulders and moving to help him sit up. As quickly as his weakened limbs would allow him, the boy batted the hand away, curling up against the side of the futon and glaring with a mixture of fear and distrust. The steady stream of babbled apologies stopped abruptly, the man looking at him with wide, surprised eyes at his abrupt dismissal before trying again to help his entangled guest.

"Don't touch me!" the boy hissed, his voice a hoarse croak. He didn't understand why he was here, in the company of a stranger. He was confused and afraid, some inner self urging him to be cautious, and so he lashed out, the caustic words tangling on his tongue as if he were unused to saying them. There was a long pause during which his apparent host knelt, hand still outstretched towards him, surprise and hurt warring on the stranger's face and in his mind. The boy gave a feeble whimper and huddled against the side of the futon even further, pressing his palms to his ears in a childish attempt to stave the man's emotions off. Frowning slightly, the man sat back on his heels, draping his arms loosely across his knees as he contemplated the young boy.

"So, you're finally awake."

The boy didn't reply, eyes shut tightly as he attempted to slow his breathing. The man continued to speak, though, his low tenor placating despite the youth's continued distrust. 

"I found you two weeks ago, bleeding by the roadside and looking as if a bunch of thugs had set upon you with several blunt knives. I couldn't just leave you, so I decided to take you home and try to help you." Here, the man hesitated, a brief look of discomfort flitting across his features, but it went unnoticed by his still panting charge. "You haven't woken since I found you. My friend Wakaba helped me take care of you, and you seemed to be getting better, but I was worried because you didn't seem to…seem to want to wake up. I - "

"What do you want with me?" 

He glared into the stranger's shadowed face, sensing again a flicker of surprise, and, unexpectedly, the faintest touch of fear before the man replied, sounding confused.

"Want? I don't _want_ anything from you. Why would you think that?" His voice was genuinely curious and concerned, and he began to reach towards the young boy again as if he was thinking of hugging him, but was dissuaded from pursuing that notion as the boy literally hissed, baring small white teeth at him as if threatening to bite him if he came any closer. 

"I told you not to touch me!" he snapped, shrinking back yet again, "Did you do this to me?" He gestured at himself vaguely. Though only his bare shoulder peeked from under the sheet, the stranger seemed to realize that he was referring to his unexplained injuries: the fire that spread across his back and the numerous cuts and gashes along his bare body that pulled tight every time he tried to move.

"Of course not." A wave of sadness came from his mysterious benefactor as he spoke. "I don't know what happened to you. Can you remember anything?"

"I…" The boy whimpered, covering his eyes with both hands and pressing hard, trying to recall any vague fragment of his past. "I can't…nothing. I can't remember _anything_. Why can't I remember anything?" He cried in frustration, his thin body beginning to tremble as sobs threatened to burst from his lips. The man remained silent as he started to cry, feeling lost and afraid. How he had come to be here and what had happened to him for him to _need_ to be here, he could not remember. His fright at this gap in his memory, though, paled in comparison to the stark terror he felt when he found that he could not remember anything _else_ in his life, either.

Then there were arms around him, pressing him to a strong, warm chest as large hands moved along his back in comforting circles. Shocked, he stiffened for a moment, ignoring the agony that sprang from the stranger's touch, before half-heartedly pushing at the man's chest, his tears disappearing at the unexpected comfort of his strange savior's embrace, his empathy for once not overwhelmed by their close proximity. The man was unmoved by his feeble attempts, murmuring soft nonsensical words of comfort into the young boy's ear. His hands froze upon encountering the rough ridge of a stitched gash, his touch immediately becoming light and apologetic. Hisoka's slight body refused to relax, though he stopped shoving at the larger man when it became evident that he wasn't going to let go, remaining tense and uncomfortable in his embrace. Sighing slightly, the man moved back, his hands sliding to his young charge's shoulders, offering friendly comfort as he tried to catch the elusive green gaze that kept sliding everywhere except towards him. 

"Feel better?" he asked kindly. Hisoka trembled briefly as some wave of emotion washed through him - compassion? - and was sorely tempted to finally allow himself to trust the man, but something inside him was warning him against trusting _anyone_. He remained silent, fixing his eyes on the still-opened door and the rectangle of light that fell into the darkened room. A hand cupped his chin and turned his face gently towards his savior. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet those of the man. They widened in shock.

Iridescent purple returned his gaze with something that resembled calm, hopeful affection, at once too young and too old in a lightly-tanned face, framed by long locks of silky chestnut strands that shifted as the man tilted his head curiously under his scrutiny. He reached forward with a slender, shaking hand to touch that face. Uncertain fingertips traced the contours of the man's cheekbones before Hisoka realized what he was doing and, jerking his hand back, blushed furiously. The man smiled, an expression that was as sad as it was reassuring.

"It's okay." He said, as the boy's hand fell back to his side. "I'm used to it." After a brief pause, the purple gaze narrowed slightly and he asked haltingly, "Is there anything I should call you? I mean, like a name. I can't just call you, 'hey, boy', so…"

"Hisoka." The man stopped his rambling, blinking slightly at the soft, breathy whisper of his guest's answer. Hisoka's cheeks were stained with the faintest tinge of pink, his hands twisting in the sheet still draped around his shoulders. His pained green eyes were fixed on something past the man before him, his face slightly pale. "It's all I remember. My name is Hisoka."

Hisoka shrank into himself slightly, feeling vulnerable as if the uttering of his name gave the man some unknown power over him. Unexpectedly, he found a hand thrust before his face, palm up, and glanced up to find the man grinning at him with understanding in his violet gaze.

"My name is Tsuzuki Asato. It's a pleasure to meet you, Hisoka." 

Hisoka glanced from the outstretched hand to Tsuzuki's face and back again in confusion. Tsuzuki waited patiently. Finally, a pale, small hand crept into his. The man squeezed it gently, rising to his feet and tugging his young charge up as well, catching him carefully as Hisoka's legs buckled. He laid him back on the bed, thoughtfully laying Hisoka on his stomach so as to keep from disturbing his injured back. Tsuzuki disentangled the sheets and tucked them about Hisoka's slender frame, aware of the wary eyes watching his every move with tight-lipped anxiety. By the time he had finished, the boy's eyes were half-closed from drowsiness, sheer willpower alone keeping him awake. Tsuzuki gently smoothed ash-blonde hair from the youthful face and smiled at the sleepy, answering glower he received.

"Go to sleep, Hisoka." He said softly, and soothingly stroked the boy's hair.

The sound of steady breathing answered his words and Tsuzuki smiled, tiptoeing towards the door quietly. He turned to look at the small, pale figure lying in the futon, looking ineffably fragile and innocent. Lavender eyes darkened briefly, long fingers tightening on the doorframe.

"Good night, angel."

Then he was gone.

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TBC

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C&C is always appreciated, as you wonderful readers are really what spur me on to write. ^_~ Of course, I'd probably write anyway, but getting nice reviews make me feel all spiffy and wonderful. =D

**Wolf**


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